They are trying to erase us
as if we are scribbles on a chalkboard.
They have obliterated our synagogue,
turned it into a warehouse.
I look in the windows,
see pieces of furniture huddled together,
heads bowed as if in prayer.
I wonder if there is a prayer
for protection from wolves.
I know that we are The Chosen People,
but I can’t believe we were chosen for this.
Those who pray are arrested
for organizing religious meetings,
their homes demolished.
In our house, led by my father,
my family found a way to talk to God.
We huddled together, heads bowed.
Our prayers were whispered,
sometimes riding on the air we breathe.
We did not know everything, yet we knew this:
The wolves can eat the Jews, but
their mouths are no match for
The Master of the Universe.